


a waking life of looking backwards

by headuphigh



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Hell Loops (Lucifer TV), Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, POV Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Post-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 04, Pre-Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 05 Part 1, Sad Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Soft Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28239441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headuphigh/pseuds/headuphigh
Summary: It's been thousands of years, and Lucifer misses Chloe so much he goes looking for her wherever he can find her.Even if the Chloe he meets is not Chloe at all.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	a waking life of looking backwards

**Author's Note:**

> Title lyrics from _Pluto_ by Sleeping At Last; fulfilling a prompt by venividivictorious <3

Lucifer promised himself he wouldn’t do it, back when he first took back his throne. With the taste of Chloe’s lips still lingering over his own, he told himself he wouldn’t need to: that the memory of her, the _real_ her, would be enough of a treasure to cherish.

But that was thousands of years ago. And in the end, one day, he realized he had nothing to prove to anyone. Even if God is watching, He already knows what weakness and heartbreak look like on His son’s face anyway.

So he’s in LA again, sort of, but back in a different time; yet the setting, the mood, the vibe are familiar and exciting as all parties and gatherings are to the Devil. Even here, where Death is about to strike and everything around him is a clever deception, he feels surrounded by joy, by that undercurrent of persistent, stubborn, almost _impertinent_ life.

The tacky, over-the-top mansion of _Hot Tub High School_ ’s producer is not among his favorite locations when it comes to having fun, but after all, Lucifer is not here for that. Beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes, and what he’s begging for is hard to come by.

Making his way through partygoers in varying states of undress and intoxication, he walks past the bar and the DJ console all the way outside, where a huge pool hosts at least thirty people dancing, drinking, chatting or keeping their hands and mouths busy in more interesting ways. Sitting on the edge in one corner of the pool, the owner of the loop snorts a line of cocaine straight from the smooth, tanned skin of a co-star's stomach, the young woman giggling in delight at the tickling sensation while her legs kick the water below her, splashing those closer to them.

“Balam,” Lucifer acknowledges the demon playing her as he walks behind her, giving the hint of a military salute. Human hands flexing around the cocktail glass the actress is holding, Balam startles in surprise: since the demons take turns not to get bored, this is his first time in this loop, so he can’t know Lucifer has been coming here for a while now.

“Shhh,” Lucifer soothes then, bringing his index finger to his lips and winking. Balam nods, breaking his moment of confusion, and turns back to the tortured soul of Rick Sander, who doesn’t know he’s about to die of an overdose and feel guilty about that one line too many for the rest of time.

“Talk about an easy job,” Lucifer mutters under his breath as he keeps going. Letting someone snort coke out of your bloody bellybutton is certainly not a high-skilled task around here, but hey, at least the demon seems to be having fun. Lucifer respects how important that is, to put a bit of flair into what would otherwise be just duty.

Only the humans directly interacting with the soon-to-be deceased actor are played by his subjects, which is quite the saving grace for what Lucifer is about to do. He has no interest in chatting with a demon in disguise, baring his misery and longing so blatantly. At the same time, this means that what he'll have to work with is nothing more than a feeble memory, a small piece of a bigger mosaic. A fragment, a shred, a fraction of who she is.

He finds her sitting on a beach chair as always, nursing a fruity drink she’s clearly only pretending to be sipping from. A big hat shields her face from the sun, and a short red dress hugs the lines of her younger body; lines Lucifer remembers from the movie she’s “currently” mildly famous for, from that one time her towel fell to the floor and revealed her to him in all her glory, and from the night she stripped in his penthouse, drunk and demanding and ridiculous, before taking ownership of his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 _It’s too hot in this five-star hellhole!_ her slurred words echo in his head.

Dad help him, this is so bloody pathetic.

“Hello,” he still greets her, because who is he trying to fool, really? This charade, after all, is still better than nothing. “May I sit next to you?”

He gestures to the empty chair next to hers, smiling. The light disruption he’s causing to the loop means he’s now talking to a close approximation of Chloe, an almost automated version generated by Hell itself; if it wasn’t for his presence, Rick Sander’s recollection of Chloe would probably just sit here and stare at the pool, because that’s what the man remembers her doing. And, well, Lucifer is more than happy to shake things up while he can.

“Uhm, sure,” the not-yet Detective replies, her answering smile a hesitant, too-polite little thing. Every time is slightly different, yet too similar as well; proof that Hell knows how to keep a torture interesting while still reminding you that it’s never going to change _that_ much, either.

“Thank you.” He sits where he always does, then turns to her. “Not a big fan of parties, I gather? You’re here all by yourself.”

Her self-deprecating laugh is like music to his ears: a thread of familiarity he desperately clings to. She seems more insecure here, in this moment in time, as if her act of defiance on camera was just that: an act. Lucifer has the feeling she’s regretting it already; he has it almost every time.

“Yeah, I don’t know, this really isn’t my kind of thing I guess,” she shrugs, then looks around. “I suppose I should have thought about it before coming, but you know how it is. Gotta try and blend in, if I want to get somewhere!”

Lucifer wants to tell her she _will_ get somewhere, that she will accomplish so much more than... this. That she will genuinely end up helping people, and not just by providing top-notch wank bank material (which _is_ still a service to society, make no mistake). But he doesn’t, because in a few minutes this Chloe will not remember him or anything he says. Because this Chloe is not real.

Still, he'd be lying if he said there’s no comfort in the sight of her, in the simple act of talking to any version of her. It’s stupid, and it’s sad, but it’s what he has.

“Yes, public relations are indeed a big part of making it in this industry,” he agrees, crossing one leg over the other. Someone splashes water in his direction, and he flinches in annoyance.

“Oh, you’re an actor, too?” young Chloe asks, her smile slightly wider this time. Hopeful, as if only waiting for someone who can understand her struggle to fit in. The question reminds Lucifer of Miss Lopez’s fixation with his supposed method acting shtick, and the thought makes him smile sadly. He misses that – _her_ – too.

He misses everything, and everyone.

“No, no, I just meant I know that’s the case. I own a nightclub, so I can say I have crossed paths with many rising stars.” Rising and falling, being born and dying; really, stars of all kinds. Nostalgia grips him at the memory of Delilah – a loop he stubbornly refuses to visit, scared to find out what haunts her. Scared to discover it might also be him.

But when it comes to Lux, should he have said “owned”? No, that doesn’t feel right. In his heart, he will always own the place, so he doesn’t think it counts as lying. At the same time, technically, Lux as he knows it doesn’t even exist in this Chloe’s time.

“A nightclub, is it? What’s it called? Maybe I've been in it – I kinda lost track of all the parties I have been dragged to after the movie released.”

Suddenly, Lucifer’s throat feels tight.

“It’s called Lux. I don’t think you've been in it.” _But you will_ , he doesn’t say. _You will, and nothing will ever be the same again._

_Lucifer Morningstar? Is that a stage name or something?_

“Uhm, no, doesn’t ring a bell,” Chloe agrees, oblivious. Her clever, piercing eyes study him, taking him in from head to toe. “And forgive me for saying this, but for someone who should be an expert about partying, you seem a bit overdressed today?”

Lucifer looks down at his black Prada suit and vibrant red pocket square, chuckling. Even though it’s not really her, there is always a moment, a sentence, a gesture that makes him think _Ah, my Detective_ , and this is precisely it. Criticizing his attire instead of falling for his charm: textbook Chloe Jane Decker.

“Yes, I suppose I didn’t... think this through. Besides, I wasn’t planning on staying.”

Chloe tips her head back, her loose blond hair falling behind her shoulders with the motion. Lucifer has to force himself not to reach out and touch it: it’s not the kind of relationship they have. Not here anyway.

“This isn’t really your crowd, either, huh?” she teases him with that knowing grin of hers, even now. “Not fancy enough for... oh wow, I just realized we never introduced ourselves.”

That’s when Lucifer feels like a bit of a fraud: when he has to tell her his name time and time again, having to pretend he’s happy to meet her for the very first time. Having to pretend he doesn’t think about her every bloody second of every minute of every day-that-isn't-actually-a-day. At least it’s plausible for him to know _her_ name already, so that does ring true.

“Well, I know you’re Chloe Decker: anyone with a modicum of appreciation for real talent does.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the flattery. He loves it. “My name's Lucifer, darling. Lucifer Morningstar.”

It’s stupid of him to wish she'll say the exact same words of their actual first encounter: it wouldn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t stop him from holding his breath.

“Right, okay, I guess we'll just... pretend it’s your real name,” she says while laughing, amused eyes crinkling at the corners. “At least it sounds good, even though it’s kind of weird. My agent tried to convince me to change my name to Chloe _Dancer_ , can you believe it? Thought it would be... catchier, or whatever.”

“Ridiculous.” Is it though? Ah well, best to just agree. “So! What are your plans for your next–”

“I'm sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go use the restroom.”

There it is, like clockwork. She leaves the side of the pool to go inside, coke guy drops dead. He’s tried to stop her from going, as awkward as it is, but she always insists, moved by Hell's mechanism like a wheel. And if he were to command it to stop, she would too, leaving him to deal with a panicked soul he has nothing to say to aside from _You’re not bloody immortal, pal, maybe slow down a little on your snow trip there._

“S-sure, by all means, go ahead. I'll, uh... I'll be here.” Yes, he will be – too bad they’ll have to start all over.

“Keep an eye on that for me!” Chloe gestures to the glass she’s leaving on her chair as she stands up.

“I'll guard it with my life,” Lucifer tells her, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he watches her walk away. He tracks her all the way around the pool until she disappears past the sliding glass doors that lead inside, then lets out a tired sigh. After the rush of interacting with her, he always comes down as if from a high, feeling hollow and bereft it’s over.

“Oh my God!” Balam screams, which is kind of funny coming from a demon, even while in character. “Help, somebody help! Call 911!”

The crowd moves toward the commotion, like flies attracted to a rotting carcass. Lucifer eyes the abandoned drink, picks it up and takes a sip: it’s not like Chloe specifically told him not to, and besides, pretty soon the glass will be full again.

Rick Sander dies before any help can arrive, his body going cold on the wet tiles surrounding someone else’s pool, abruptly leaving a dreamworld he probably thought he would live in forever. Lucifer looks away, letting the gasps and screams of the bystanders wash over him. When he closes his eyes, he can feel Hell's air changing around him, a shift in the fabric of this reality.

He opens them again, and she’s right there next to him once more.

“Hey!” she frowns, “Is that my drink you’re holding?”

His other hand closed into a fist, Lucifer gives Chloe her glass back, smiling forcefully. What is he doing here?

“My apologies, I thought... I got confused.”

She looks puzzled, but her posture relaxes right away. “No harm done,” she says, and just like that, Lucifer makes the decision to have at least another conversation with her. After this one, he'll leave. No, maybe after two. Three? Oh, bollocks.

“You look... different than basically everyone here,” she goes on, the usual music, chatting and laughter resuming in the background while Sander is back to snorting his way to, literally, Hell. “What’s your name?”

“Lucifer.” Fuck, he wants to scream. “Lucifer M–”

“Lord Morningstar?”

Jaw clenched, Lucifer turns to (clearly) a demon, the creature masquerading as a man wearing swimming trunks to go unnoticed. With a harsh, abrupt swipe of his arm from left to right, he stops the loop in its tracks and breathes in through his nose, eyes blazing red as he slowly looks up.

“I thought I made myself clear when I said I don’t want to be interrupted when I come here,” he says in a low voice, prompting the demon to take a small step back. “What, pray tell, is so bloody important it couldn’t wait, mm?”

 _“Hey, what the hell is going on?!”_ Rick Sander yells from where he is, understandably confused by how everyone else suddenly stopped moving around him with the exception of Lucifer and the two demons present.

“Just... give me a moment, will you?” Lucifer snaps, then turns back to... Forcas? Marax? It’s not always easy to tell, and for some reason he always mixes those two. Perhaps he should have them all wear a name tag or something.

“Y-yes, I know, my King, I know you said that,” whatever-their-name-is stammers, “but you also said you wanted to be informed _immediately_ whenever a new cell set in LA, California appears. And, uhm... that’s–that’s what just happened. A new soul just arrived, and their loop takes place there.”

“Oh.” Another possible loop for him to see Chloe in, though the odds are not exactly in his favor. Regretting his outburst, Lucifer lets his eyes fade back to brown. “Right, lead me to it then.”

“Certainly, my Lord.”

The demon starts walking toward the exit, surrounded by memories as still as statues. In the background, Sander keeps asking panicked questions to Balam, who is shrugging and silently pleading Lucifer to set it all back into motion. But of course, having an aware soul is not a good thing: it’s a further layer of torture Lucifer prefers to do without. When they don’t know what’s happening until it happens, the damned are relatively, temporarily happy in their own way.

Lucifer casts one last glance in Chloe’s direction, her body halted mid-sip. He commits her softer face to memory, her blonder hair, her gentler eyes. This is a Chloe yet to be hardened by the world, by the curve balls life will throw at her. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, to think he’s probably one of those, as well.

After getting up from the chair, he smooths out the wrinkles in his suit and walks away, but before leaving the loop altogether, he stops behind Balam once more.

“I'll have a few drops of Lethe water delivered here for you to give them to him,” he informs the demon by whispering in the ear of the woman he’s pretending to be. “Pour them in your drink and offer it to him, sprinkle them over your belly before show time, dealer’s choice. No need for the poor chap to remember any of this and keep having... questions.”

“Yes, Lord Morningstar.”

“What are you two whispering about? Why is everyone else so still?” Sander demands to know, but Lucifer ignores him. “Hey! Hey, you, come back here and answer me!”

Lucifer steps inside the house, lifts his arm and commands the loop to resume with a short but decisive motion. An explosion of voices and sounds drowns out the eerie silence of a moment ago, swallowing up the dead man’s flailing until Balam grabs him by his cheeks and kisses him passionately.

“Well, that will keep him distracted for the time being,” Lucifer chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Ah, demons.

In the far distance, on the other side of the pool, Chloe blinks and looks around, wondering where the stranger she was talking to might have gone. She almost spots him, but before she can, Lucifer retreats further inside and out of her sight. She’ll be just fine without him, and in a few more minutes, it won’t even matter anyway.

Past the cell's door, Hell’s bleak landscape greets him with its somber stillness, ashes filling the air instead of song and promise. The demon who summoned him, face half-rotten now that the deception is no longer needed, bows and gestures for Lucifer to follow. He does, wondering what part of LA he'll get to see this time; hoping he’ll get a glimpse of her passing by, buying groceries or who knows what else in the backdrop of someone else’s eternal misery. So much death plagues the City of Angels, so much guilt and regret; but that’s what he needs to look for, like a parasite drawing nourishment from another living being.

Later, he'll go lie down on his bed and look up at the ceiling, his thoughts directed upwards through the invisible barrier separating him from Chloe until he falls asleep.

If he’s lucky, he’ll dream of her, too.


End file.
